Til Dark Lord lifts his hand
by Lady Angel
Summary: An alternate ending. What if Sam had been delayed just a little?


Originally written for a fantasy lit class, this was published in the Minas  
Tirith Evening Star some years ago. All characters property of the Tolkien  
estate.  
  
  
*****  
"Till dark lord lifts his hand"  
A postulation  
c 1991 Angelia Sparrow  
*****  
  
  
The orcs found Frodo in the lair of Shelob and carried him to Barad-D–r. Sam,  
his heart pounding in his mouth, followed stealthily. He had dispatched that  
stinker, Gollum, although he had not meant to. The sneak now lay in a drying  
puddle of blackish blood near the mouth of the spider's cave where Sam had backed  
into the rock wall to save himself. The weight of the Ring pulled at his neck  
as he heard the foul folk in the tower quarrel and fight among themselves.   
Exhausted by the ordeal at Cirith Ungol, he dozed.  
  
When he awoke, there was silence. He ventured a cautious look out of the niche  
he had occupied. Nothing. As he ventured further out, listening for danger, he  
tried to remember where he had last heard Frodo taken. He did not see the shape  
behind the door as he crossed the threshold of the tower. He was looking at the  
grisly scene before him. Shargat and Gorbag had come to blows, and all their  
followers with them. In the end, Gorbag's troops had won, but Sam did not know  
all of this. The shape behind the door watched as a mighty figure wrapped in  
grey shadow with a blinding light held forward strode into the tower.   
  
Gorbag closed his eyes and waited a moment. The light passed and he saw another  
of the little rat-folk, like the one with the pretty armor in the cell above,  
begin to climb the stairs. Moving silently, he followed Sam and, halfway up the  
stairs of the tower, smote him from behind. The hobbit fell to the stairs,  
unconscious. Gorbag picked the hobbit up, slung him over his shoulder, and  
carried him up the steps to join his comrade.  
  
"Ho now, what's this?" he grunted, seeing the Ring fall out of Sam's jerkin.   
"The Master will be glad of this." Leaving the two halflings, he locked the trap  
door and left the tower.  
  
The next day did not dawn. The siege continued at Minas Tirith. In the forest,  
the Riders of Rohan and the wildmen were embattled with nazg–l and other fell  
beasts. And Sauron, at last, returned his precious ring to its rightful place.   
In the heat of his hand, the writing appeared again. The bearers of the Three  
know what had happened, becoming aware the moment he put it on.  
  
C¡rdan at the Havens turned his face west and wept for his people who would now  
be destroyed before leaving for Elvenhome. Galadriel walked among the just  
blooming mallorns, her hands wrapped tightly around each other, he fair face  
drawn and sad. Elrond merely bowed his head in sorrow, knowing the quest had  
failed and that the Enemy had been far wiser than any suspected.  
  
The men of Gondor fought valiantly before the Witch-King and his troops, and fell  
as valiantly. Peregrin was slain before the doors of the White Tower, and even  
the wounded in the Houses of Healing were murdered in their beds. The Rohirrim,  
much decimated, arrived too late. No living thing moved in the streets of Minas  
Tirith, save orcs.  
  
The Corsairs of Umbar, sailing up the Anduin, saw the banner of the Eye floating  
over the walls. Elessar unfurled his banner, and although he slew many, when he  
was cut down by the Witch-King, it fluttered into a forlorn heap of cloth, no  
longer shining with starlight, on the deck of the ship.  
  
Saruman was reinstated to Isengard, and given a portion of the lands around.   
Fangorn was leveled. Lothl¢rien burned. Mirkwood again became a home for  
unclean things. The Shire fell, its people becoming slaves to till the ground.   
The Dwarves of the Mountain were seduced with the remaining rings and became  
thralls of Mordor.   
  
The two hobbits watched all of this, their hearts breaking, from the window of  
Barad-D–r.  
  
"Do you not like my handiwork?" came the voice from everywhere and nowhere.   
"Since you assisted me so well, I thought I should give you the privilege of  
seeing it through to the end, the end of all things."  
  
Frodo awoke in his chair at Bag-End, clutching the white stone around his neck.   
He was shaking and the wound in his shoulder ached as it had not since it was  
new. Darkness lay in the hall and around the edge of the room. He almost  
fancied he heard a sniffing sound from outside.   
  
He sat awake until dawn, merely to watch the sun rise over the Hill and to know  
that the dream was false. Sam was due back the next day from a gardening  
expedition, and he would break the news of his impending journey then. 


End file.
